The Only One
by Izzy May
Summary: Set the morning after Belle is taken to Rumplestiltskin's house. He has a shocking revelation and is intrigued by Belle's reaction, possibility of eventual Rumbelle smut. Unfinished but reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

The sun strained against the heavy cloth of the curtains, blurry shadows of light stretched out across the walls casting a blanket of hazy yellow at the girl that lay on the floor. Four small limbs were draped in a sheen of fabric that clung to pallid skin, long brown curls dashed carelessly about – the product restless night. A slim hand rested under her cheek, the other clutched the bodice of her dress.

Without warning the door creaked open to reveal the sounds of deliberate footsteps creeping over the threshold, the melodic voice soon after them –

"Wake up dearie! Come along, up, up up!"

Belle's lashes flicked open - the unmistakeable silhouette of Rumplestiltskin coming into view. She rubbed the haze from her eyes and tried to shake the confusion from her head, of where she was, of what had happened, finally resting her eyes upon the smirking figure in front of her.

"I trust you slept well" he chimed, the smirk turning into a malevolent giggle, fingers laced in front of his chest.

"Who...where?" The words slid from her mouth as though they were hardly words at all.

"Where, dearie, is in my house, a dungeon to be precise. As for who, well you can call me..."

He paused for a moment, pressing one long finger to his chin in mock deliberation

"...master" another shrill giggle.

Belle propped herself up on her hands before rising steadily, smoothing down her dress and pulling stray curls from her face. The events of the day before popped into her head in quick bursts, struck like lightning bolts, the memories rushing suddenly into view. They taunted her, appearing out of order and plagued by the obscurity of sleep; the moment she decided to give herself over, the cold air as she stepped outside, how the door groaned as she entered his house as if it knew of all the troubles to come.

"Your Rumplestiltskin" Belle recalled, her voice unsteady.

He tutted "Now now, there is power in names you know. We don't just go shouting them about." He placed his hands on his hips briskly "and anyway, I think I prefer master. It has a certain ring to it – don't you think?"

Belle sighed, "If you say so." She breathed her voice placid from a restless night, not fully engaging with the severity of the situation.

"And I do. Now come along dearie, dress yourself, my floor won't clean itself you know."

With that Rumple strolled back out of the door, leaving the dishevelled girl to fall back against the wall in exhaustion. Belle felt the cool bricks on the back of her head as she gathered her thoughts – _surely this man couldn't be as bad as they say. _With a sigh she rose again to ready herself for the day ahead.

It was past ten o'clock when she finally entered the dining room were Rumple was sat, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the oak of the table. Her appearance gained no hint of recognition besides the quietening of this drumming, fading out delicately until the room seemed to be flooded with the silence. Belle stood, straight backed, suddenly feeling terribly small against the immense furnishings, the high backed chairs and wooden cabinets, even the floor swept around her feet like a deep, murky pool.

"You're late." Rumple's voice rang out.

Belle pulled one corner of her mouth up apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Rum..." He frowned "Master." The words seemed to cling to her tongue, not wanting to be released. "I couldn't find any fresh clothes; I mean you never left me any."

Rumplestiltskin stood up and paced towards the cabinet at the side of the room, running his eyes over the contents proudly. The shelves were filled with bottles of all shapes and colours, each with its own label, each stood neatly in its place.

"Why did you not ask one of the others? Why come to me?" He sent her a quizzing loo before turning this attentions back to the bottles..

"Others?" her voice betrayed her surprise.

Hearing this, his eyes once again fixed upon her, resting for a moment before he took a few slow steps closer. Rumple's face contorted into a knowing grin.

"Ah.." He whispered, head tilted slightly to the side "You thought you were the only one?"

"Well no...I just assumed" Belle stammered, cut short –

"You assumed wrong, dearie." Rumple stated, studying her face, noticing how her eyes struggled to stay upon his, how her fingers were busily lacing and unlacing behind her back. That quick half smile slipped from her cheeks.

"Your disappointed." He took two more brisk steps, leaning in closer, closer as if to read every emotion that flicked over her skin. Belle bit her lip gently, not knowing what she was, disappointed, sad or anything else for that matter.

"Where are they?"

She spoke clearly under his unnerving gaze. Rumple giggled as if to jeer at her courage, or at some glimpse of the future, before stepping back a pace and folding his arms. Belle noticed how the sleeves of his shirt hung low on his wrists, at how his skin seemed to glint despite the darkness.

"Oh, about." He answered in a cavalier manner, hen sensing her next question, continued- "First bourns, bartered away, just like you." Rumple lowered his voice again "Everyone has their price, dearie."

Belle looked stricken at the thought.

"But surely children are of no use to you?"

"No, of course not. But then again they do make a rather delicious soup."

Belle gasped.

"A quip." Rumple smiled "You would be surprised what magic can do, dearie."


	2. Chapter 2

Belle knelt on the tiled floor, her back aching from being curled in the same position for too long, the soapy water sloshed in its bucket as she dragged it from one spot to the next. _Whatever made her think he wasn't serious about scrubbing the floor?_ The words played through her mind as she nursed her chapped, wrinkled hands, before beginning to scour the next muddy boot stain from the ground.

The hall was easily one of the largest and dirtiest rooms in the house, and Belle sighed in the knowledge that there were probably many more like this one, only a fraction smaller. She had pinned her brown hair back after the first hour, the long tresses dipping in and out of the water every time to lent forward, her pale cheeks now pink and wet. Even her knees were damp despite her skirts, now speckled with water marks, and she feared she would have to ask Rumplestiltskin for another set, still unable to locate any of the 'others' to whom she was directed. Besides, he was the one who presented her with the new dress before, carrying it out in front of him as if his touch would somehow tarnish it. It seemed to Belle to be a shame to be scrubbing floors in such a dress, surprised at how well it seemed to fit, to how much detail was woven in to all the right places.

"Are you finished?"

Rumple smiled, appearing in the doorway as Belle had realised was his habit, leaning in against the frame with once leg hooked over the other.

"Not quite, I've still the entrance to do, and there by the stairs." Belle replied.

"Ah, then let me help you."

He straightened himself before gesturing outwards with both hands, fingers uncurling as if he were revealing some wonderful object. The floor directly changed, suddenly cleaner than before, even the patches scrubbed by Belle stood out like faint shadows on the tile. She looked around in confusion, running a finger along the floor beside her before staring wide-eyed in his direction.

"You...you could have just cleaned it? Just like that?" Her voice filled with a mix of bewilderment and anger. Rumple gigged and pressed his palms together before answering –

"Yes. Just like that." He spoke each word deliberately, almost mockingly.

"How dare you! Do you know how long I've been here?" Belle stood and pulled loose her hair in frustration "Why? Why would you make me waste my time on something that you could have just" She clicked her fingers "Snapped clean in a second? Why? Tell me!"

"Because I could. Because it pleased me. _Why_ do I do most of what I do, Dearie? Hmm?" Rumple said, his voice intentionally calm.

Belle reeled in anger, her temper quickened from hours of work and little sleep. In a fluster of movement she kicked the bucket over in one kick of her leg, the water gushing out into a great soapy pool.

"Does this please you?" Belle shouted.

"It doesn't displease me. Although I would advise you refrain from doing it again, that temper of yours could get you into trouble, dearie." Rumple said in a matter-of-fact tone that disturbed her.

Fists clenched so that her nails dug into the tender skin of her hands and unsure of what to do next, she felt the water slowly soak the hem of her dress. With a frown Belle stepped forward out of the puddle, her head beginning to pound from all the thoughts, emotions, a feeling of anguish rising over the anger. She gave a dejected sigh before wiping the remains of soap from her cheeks, feeling the small bubbles pop on her fingertips. Rumple watched, engrossed in every small movement, as Belle walked over to the toppled bucket and picked it up, turning to leave the room.

"What _are_ you doing?" He murmured

"What you asked me to do, I'm scrubbing your floors, and your spinning room is as good a place as any to waste my time." She spoke candidly. "Unless you want to come with me, in which case I dare say I'll finish the whole house in an..." she clicked her fingers again "instant."

Rumple scowled and raised his eyebrows as she began to walk away.

"No need." His voice was sharp. "I require you elsewhere."

"Ask one of the others, I can hardly do anything else, my clothes are wet." Belle replied.

"Never mind the others they are none of your concern." Rumple said quickly "And never mind your dress, I will find you another."

Belle put the bucket down on the floor, turning to face him.

"Why?" Her voice was low.

"Why?" he repeated, gesturing his words with a flick of his fingers.

"Why am I here?" She continued.

Rumple looked at her with intent, enjoying every change of emotion that arose from her tone. She met his eyes with equal severity.

"To be my slave, to do my bidding." He stated, stepping closer "To prepare my meals, to clean my house, to wash my clothes. What else?" his voice was almost childlike, flicking from one phase to the next with a melodic quality.

"But why? You've just shown me you can do all that yourself, what use am I when you have magic?"

"I have more important things to do with _my_ time, dearie." He smiled "You, however, have all the time in the world."


	3. Chapter 3

It had been weeks now, or at least Belle assumed it had been weeks seeing as there were no clocks in the house, all the windows blocked with sheets of black velvet so even the sun couldn't help her guess the time. The only shadows cast were those from the candles on the walls, on almost every surface, that burned all day and all night, their wax never dripping and their wicks never burning lower. She had become accustomed to the dim light they cast, and to all the other odd traces of magic that seemed to litter the house. Sometimes she would be startled, even confused, but finally even she learnt to accept them as part of her life. She accepted that the flowers always withered within a day, no matter how carefully she tended to them, seemingly coming back to life at night only to die again in the morning. The fire was always lit and no about of dousing could put it out.

Belle noticed how Rumple stared into that fire every evening before he retired to bed, his eyes glowing black in the light. He would rest in one of his high backed chairs and just stare into the tiny, flickering caves of red and yellow, hardly blinking. When he would leave Belle would often stare into the flames herself, squinting to see what he saw that made the corners of his mouth tense and his breathing become shallow. Eventually the coils of smoke would become too much for her eyes to bear and she would return, defeated, back to her work, the fire burning on.

Every morning Belle would awaken in her cell, for that is what she knew it to be, and thought of that fire, not because she yearned to know its secrets but because the air was always bitter at dawn. She would rush to the door, the floor damp against her bare feet, and call out for Rumplestiltskin, unable to open the door lest she escape during the night. Almost immediately she would feel the door give way, knowing he had flicked his wrist in response to her cries, and find a pile of freshly warmed clothes just outside. She didn't know who picked these clothes or even who put them there for she had never heard any footsteps other than Rumples, nor any voices, but they were always well made and pleasing to the eye. It seemed curious that those which she was particularly fond of, such as the pale blue skirt with the white lace bodice, seemed to appear more often than most, something which she saw as evidence of both Rumples kindness and control. After hastily dressing in whatever gown was placed she would ascend the stairs into the main body of the house to find Rumple sat at the large oak table in the dining hall, after which she would bring him whatever food and drink he desired. More often than not he would unashamedly watch her with intent, passing a few civilities before directing her as to what was to be done that day.

One day, however, she ascended the stairs to find the dining hall empty, a note thrown upon the tabletop which she hurriedly read –

"_Belle,_

_I have business to attend to, I trust you to continue with your work in my absence."_

Even though there was no signature she instantly recognised it as Rumple's handwriting from seeing him scrawling out contracts full of loopholes and impossible conditions. She noticed how the lines were thin and long, scratched out on the parchment with a quick, fluent hand, she discerned the flourishes on every 't' and 'y', how their tails curled up like those of a lizard. Before she even had time to place the note back down upon the table she felt it disintegrate into dust which sunk into the air until no trace of the thing was left. Even in his absence Belle could still feel Rumples presence, he was in every cup, in every dusty wall hanging and his gold dust still glinted in the air in the right light. This odd feeling of his lingering being mixed with that of freedom rose up in Belle as if the two emotions were battling to be the strongest, battling to be felt. She froze in uncertainty.

Moments later she felt herself running through the corridors, the sounds of her feet hitting the ground echoing against the hard stone walls. It seemed the feeling of freedom had won out, for she was all too used to feeling oppressed, and she held her dress up to her knees to allow her legs move from under the layers of fabric. Naturally she first ran to the heavy oak door trough which she was escorted though not so long ago, pulling at the heavy steel handle, but to no avail. Next the windows, pulling back the velvet to find them barred, and no matter how hard she tried, impossible to shatter. Of course this came as no surprise to the girl, whose natural instincts seemed to over ride her reason, though she knew she would have felt yet more foolish if she had simply given up on escaping through assumptions of it being impossible. Satisfied that there was no obvious means of escape she began to absent-mindedly roam the halls, half looking for any clues that might aid her in her plan to free herself, half looking for the 'others' of which she had seen no signs.

Belle climbed the staircase, its hand rail thicker than her out stretched palm, up to where she knew the bedrooms to be, all those of course, except her own. The silence of the house seemed to be troubling her more than usual and she called out in a small voice –

"Hello?" and then again, a little louder "Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was no response. Belle breathed slowly, strained her ears to listen for any signs of movement. Without warning a loud clash erupted, causing her to jump backwards against the wall, clutching her chest in fear, before seeing an ink-black rodent scurry away down the hall. The sudden sound had startled her enough that when she began to walk towards the source the noise her steps were slow and light, the candles doing litter to calm her fear. Towards the end of the hall she found a small toppled table on its side and shards of what she guessed to be a vase scattered across the carpet like tiny pointed teeth. _Oh gods, _Belle thought, still sceptical about speaking aloud again, not knowing how to tell Rumple that his vase had been broken by some kind of rat- the kind that manages to knock over tables. Collecting the shards into a pile with her hands she reflected silently how she was sure he would blame her for the damage, frowning with anxiety about his return, until she felt one of the pieces cut into her skin. Bell let out a small yelp, picking up the table to place the pile upon before instinctively putting her finger between her lips. The blood tasted metallic in her mouth. After several minutes she inspected the cut, not as deep as she had first imagined but still angry and red against her pale skin. Satisfied that it was just a scratch, all but a deep one, Belle decided to continue her exploration, leaving the pile of broken vase pieces to deal with later.

Cautiously she began to creak open several of the shut doors she could see, checking them for signs of life, half expecting Rumple to appear behind one at any moment. Although he did not appear she suddenly felt as if she were trapped in a giant kaleidoscope where each room was a reflection, each grandly decorated, each as empty as the next. She touched the tie backs of the curtains which hung at the double beds, woven out of fine gold thread, and carefully avoided stepping on each rug. The pattern continued until she wandered back down the hall with a sigh, none the wiser for all her prying, stopping outside the door by the broken vase. Instantly she noticed the door handle was different, _why has she not noticed before?_ for it was unmistakeably the head of a dragon, its scales delicately carved but rough to the touch. Twisting the handle, Belle stepped through.


	4. Chapter 4

This room was darker than the rest and the air felt thicker somehow. One candle burned against the far wall which served to illuminate everything in part, the rest was covered by flickering shadows. Belle squinted, making out the faint shape of a battered looking chest furthest away from the light, rows of odd little trinkets lined up on several crooked shelves. Baskets of gold thread glinted like balls of amber wool, ends hanging over the edge from where they had been last spun. The only clue of the rooms actual purpose was a large bed, certainly bigger than the others, which stood in the centre of the room. Its feet were shaped to be some kind of animal feet, but what animal Belle couldn't tell, a semi-transparent black fabric hung over the entire thing like a funeral veil from a canopy above. The realisation that this must be_ his _room sent a flourish of excitement through her as if she were entering some forbidden realm. Cautiously, Belle sauntered over to the bed, absentmindedly running her fingers through the fabric and watching it ripple. There was no evidence of Rumple's having slept there, she noticed, no creased sheets or imprint of where he may have lain. It smelt of him though, the entire room, much more than the rest of the house. There was more gold dust to it glinted like confetti in the air.

Everything seemed too still, but not unlike the dark Belle had become used to stillness. It was strange how sometimes the house felt so alive and other times entirely dead, but even during these times of stillness Belle always remained sceptical, treating the silence the same as that of a sleeping lion. Most of all Belle missed music, she missed the sound of human feet clattering on tiled floors around her, laughing_, talking_. Of course she spoke to Rumple, mostly because she feared she would go mad if she did not, but it was almost impossible to get past the sneer, the odd air of elegance mixed with his offhandedness which only served to exasperate her. Predominantly he would speak to her as if she were a child, the rest of the times in riddles she was sure had no logical answer and often related to something different entirely.

Ignoring the bed for a moment Belle took a few steps towards the chest she had first spotted in the candlelight, running her eyes over the gold inlay which swirled and dipped on the dark wood of the box. The hinges were rusty, that was obvious, and so even if the chest wasn't locked she very much doubted she would be able to open the thing. Nonetheless Belle pushed her slim fingers into the small groove under the lid and pulled upwards, surprised when this caused the chest to creak. She tried again, this time pulling harder, eyes, closed in the effort, feeling that it was just about to give... _Come one_ she thought _Come on_... The lid suddenly gave way, springing open with a loud clash against the stone wall, forcing her to fall backwards in a cloud of dust. The hard ground coming into contact with her back caused her to let out a small shriek before pulling herself back up again. Belle coughed as she wiped the grey from her cheeks and patted out the worst of it from her hair. She narrowed her eyes at the open chest emerging through the powder floating in the air, straining to see what was within, but all she could make out was white. With a wave of her hand it became all too clear – _bones_.

Bell stood, the abruptness of which caused her to shuffle uneasily on her feet and grab hold of one of the posts from the bed. She had seen a lot of things over the past weeks: jars full of odd coloured liquids, putrefied crow's feet, but nothing quite so obviously gruesome. The sight both revolted and fascinated her, she was unable to look away and unable to force herself close enough the shut the chest again. In this state of limbo Belle found herself crouching lower again, just enough to get a better look, deliberating if they were animal or human. Unsurprisingly, and despite her lack of Knowles in the subject, she decided upon the latter. But something wasn't right, she noticed how they piled up awkwardly in the centre when she could see no whiteness below. The realisation struck that they must be covering something, and she was sure that this time it would be worse than bits of skeleton. _Ok Belle, you can do this_ the small voice in her head urged, despite her better judgement that she should just close the thing and leave. She hesitated for a long moment before tentatively picking up one of the bones between two of her fingers and moving it to one side, repeating the action several times until a piece of dark fabric came into view. Without hesitation Belle reached out with both hands and gently lifted it out from the chest, realising instantly that it contained something heavy. She moved closer to the candlelight and unwrapped one dark fold after the next, hands shaking in anticipation, until the content was revealed. A crooked metal dagger bearing the words 'Rumplestilitskin'.

"I think you'll find that's mine, dearie."

The voice caused her to drop the knife, sending it clattering to the ground. She wheeled round only to see that Rumple had appeared only a few feet behind her – _gods how she wished her would stop doing that_, with a wild look in his eyes. Belle quickly picked it up and clutched it against her chest, impulsively meeting his glare with her own round eyes.

"I'm sorry...I mean, the chest, and...oh...the vase, I'm so sorry. You see there was a rat, which is strange because in all my time here I've never seen one before...but it..."

"I don't care about that" He cut her short, reaching out his hand. "Give it to me."

Belle knew he was talking about the dagger by the way he curled his lip every time she ran her thumb over the blade. Whatever this was she knew it was not just any old thing, she could literally feel the magic fizzing beneath the metal, and realised that this might be her only chance to escape her imprisonment.

"Why?" she asked, her gaze not leaving his, "What's so special about it?"

"That is none of your business, now give it to me." All of the joking had drained from his face, revealing only anger and what Belle assumed to be fear. Seizing the upper hand she turned her hands, pointing the blade directing at rumples chest.

"Get out of my way"

"You have no idea what you're dealing with" Rumple growled.

"No you don't know what you're dealing with. Now move or i'll..."

"Stab me? Gut me like a fish" The jeer creeping slowly back into his voice "What exactly are you planning on doing dearie?"

"Leaving." Belle spat.

"Ah ah ah..." He chided "Don't forget our deal. There is no way you can leave this castle without my releasing you, it's all in the contract you see." He smiled "Unless, of course, I'm dead."

"Then you have left me no choice." Belle stepped closer, hands visibly shaking despite her position.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" Rumple sang "you see, if you stab me with that you will be able to escape, oh yes, but let not forget that all magic has a price, and that dagger, dearie, is magic. "

Belle hesitated. Rumple pressed one long finger against the tip of the blade, guiding it upwards, stepping closer so that the edge rested against his chest.

"and that price will be yours to pay" he continued, letting out a giggle before dropping his voice "you would become like me, a beast, a carrier of dark magic. Then, my dear Belle, you will truly know what it is like to be a prisoner."


End file.
